She Is You

By Sushant Shrestha

Here she lies on my bed 

Black lace traces the curve of her hips,

delicate threads that whisper secrets

against her naked skin.

Her breasts lie bare in the dim light,

nipples inviting and wanting,

rising with each breath.

One strap fallen from her shoulder

maps a path my fingers long to follow.

Her hair spills across my pillow

a dark river I've plunged into in many lives.

I trace each curve with reverent hands,

remembering how I've touched you

in a million different times.

My fingers find the small of her back,

that perfect hollow I've known

since the first stars learned to shine.

I kiss her neck where pulse meets shadow,

My tongue tasting salt and time.

Her breasts fill my palms

like they always have.

When I taste her nipple with my lips,

she gasp with your voice,

arch with your grace.

My lips travel down her stomach,

mapping constellations, I've charted before.

Her thighs part like petals opening

to the morning sun—this too is familiar,

this too is memory remade in flesh.

Each moan she makes

echoes across eons.

She wears your birthmark on her hip,

that sweet signature of soul.

When pleasure builds inside her,

her eyes flash with your fire,

her fingers clutch with your gravity,

her body speaks your language.

But when I whisper her name—Ava—

against your heated skin,

no recognition sparks in her eyes.

She is you, every cell, every atom,

every secret curve and hollow,

but she doesn't know it yet.

Her body remembers

what her mind has forgotten.

I kiss her lips and taste eternity,

knowing she is you

Knowing she is you,

this pleasure is also pain—

for she is you, Ava, in every way

except she is asleep merrily flaunting her charms

So I love you in the darkness,

teaching her flesh what her spirit forgot,

hoping that somehow,

between one breath and the next,

between one kiss and another,

she might remember

who she is always been.

Ava, you are here. Ava, you are near.